Will He Show?
by Furyan Goddess
Summary: Sean is still struggling... Shenot so much... She poses a question... Will he show?
1. Will He Show?

Author: Furyan Goddess   
Title: **Will He Show?**  
Rating: PG-13 for adult situations  
Fandom: AMA   
Disclaimer: Don't own Sean or anything from KAG   
Summary: A broken Sean, Sitting in a bar, thoughts of a girl, watching him…  
Pairing: Sean/OC  
Archive: Yes  
Feedback: Yes please, I would love to know your thoughts and ideas and suggestions.   
Author's Notes: POV of OC

I see him there, beer in his hand, staring into nothingness. He doesn't drink much; my guess is he learned a long time ago that it won't take away the pain.

He's hurt, broken, stripped bare of his original promise and joy. Why? I wonder. What happened to him? My guess is he's lost someone close, probably a wife, maybe a child? All I know is that I want the make him better. I want to help ease the pain.

I've never even spoken to him, he doesn't talk to women, anyone really. He just sits with a drink in his hand and loses himself in the past. Shadows cross his face, a wisp of a smile at times. Some think that perhaps he isn't right in the head. I can tell he is; he's not crazy. He just wishes he was. If he were crazy then he could go on pretending that life doesn't suck.

No, he knows first hand how bad life sucks. So do I. So I sit here, a beer in my hand as I stare into nothingness. I'm further gone than he is. So far gone I'm on my way back around. He hasn't reached that point yet, the point where you either pick yourself up and move on, almost make yourself forget completely, or you slide down, lost forever.

I hope it doesn't come to that for him. He has nice eyes, sad but nice. Laugh lines. He was happy once, will he ever be again? I was happy once, will I ever be again?

I watch him finish his beer and contemplate a second. I make the decision for him and motion toward the bartender. A fresh, icy bottle is set down in front of him as the bartender jerks his chin my way.

He looks at me and nods and then takes a long drink, closes his eyes and pretends that it was her that bought it for him. I'm ok with that. I've done it myself. I finish my beer and find a fresh one taking its place. I turn and nod at him, close my eyes, take a long drink and wish it was me he bought the drink for.

I'm ready. He's not. I can wait. How long will it take? Will he ever move on? He looks the kind to love hard and forever. Maybe he is lost, but he'll get lonely. Someday. Will it be settling? Maybe? First love is always the truest. Not so much as settling as the next best thing.

As I coyly watch him in the mirror behind the bar my mind drifts. I think of his hands, so beautiful wrapped around that amber bottle, what would they feel like on my body. Two years since a man's touched me. Two years since I've felt the heat of flesh against flesh. The touch. The taste. Long time to be alone.

How long's it been for him? I wonder. I bet he made love to her the day he lost her and that's what he holds on to. He got to say good-bye. Got to tell her one last time he loved her. It's the only thing that kept that Glock he wears on his hip out of his mouth.

I've been there. I've been that lost. That alone. Unsure how to draw the next breath, let alone the next forty years worth.

His eyes meet mine in the mirror and I know that if he asks, I'll go with him. I also know that it won't be me he's with. Maybe I'm not as ready as I thought. I'd settle. I don't want to settle. I want him to want _me_. He's not there yet.

I close my eyes and rest my forehead on the lip of my bottle. I feel the air stir around me. His strong, masculine scent settles over me as he speaks for the first time.

"Thanks for the beer." He tells me and then is gone before I can turn to look at him.

His voice is deeper than I thought it would be. Sexy. So rough it's almost smooth. The sound lingers in my ears and I want to hear it again. Maybe tomorrow? Same time. Same place. Same memories.

I want to take him home but I won't want him to leave. Ever. He's nothing like John. Least what's left of him but I find myself fascinated nonetheless. Can you love someone you've never met? Better than loving a ghost, I suppose. Maybe it's just replacing one fantasy with a new one. One illusion for another.

I thank Pete for the beer and head home. Alone. Back to the place that sickens me with its memories. It's time to move. As soon as I find a place. Maybe down by the beach. A new town? I can't go, not without him. How pathetic and wrong is that? Maybe we could go together. Just fade way like we've never existed and start new somewhere. Probably should talk to him first before I ask him to run away with me. The thought makes me laugh.

All my life I took the safe route. I had a good life. A single bullet changed that. Now, I got nothing but sand in my hands. Easier to hold than water, but not much. You can build on sand though. It'll be shifty but you can live there.

I just about gag on my endless string of clichés and lock my door. I look around my apartment and sigh. I pick up the phone book and call a realtor. I'm out of this fucking pit of despair. I walk in and I feel the pain seep back in. Beautiful house. Not to me. Painful memories of a better time.

The next day, he chooses a new barstool, one closer to mine. Just one down but it's a huge step. We still don't speak but it's a start.

A few days later, I choose a new barstool, one closer to him. Just one down but it's a huge step. We still don't speak but we're getting there.

We meet in the middle a week later and our elbows touch. My heart jumps. I have a nibble on my house. A line on a job in another town. Dare I say the words? Ask him to come with me?

Three days later, he beats me there. There's a beer already waiting for me. I speak this time.

"Thank you," I whisper.

He nods.

"So…," I trail off and take a deep breath. "I'm moving," I tell him straight out. He looks at me with his chocolate eyes and I just about melt. "To Colorado. The mountains. I got a job. A place."

He remains silent but watchful. A take a drink to wet my burning throat. "I leave tomorrow."

He turns back to his beer. And I feel my heart drop. I square my shoulders for courage, "I wouldn't mind some company for the long drive," I say and meet his eyes in the mirror. He just stares at me and I raise my chin and pretend it doesn't matter if he comes or not. He knows I'm lying. I don't know how he knows, but he does.

I finish my beer and stand. I set a piece of paper down next to him that has my old address on it and my new one. "In case you change your mind," I tell him and run my hand down his arm. "I'm leaving about 7 in the morning. If I don't see you again, just know it does get a little easier, eventually. Thanks for the beer and conversation," I smile and walk away.

My heart is pounding. Will he show?


	2. Will He Stay?

**2 Will He Stay?**

It's three minutes till seven and I'm standing beside my truck, waiting. Will he show? I doubt it. Why would he? We don't even know each other. We've only have said a handful of words, me more than him, to one another.

I don't want to go without him. I wonder briefly if I should give him a few extra minutes and then shake my head. No. He can tell time. If he isn't here in the next thirty seconds, I'm gone. He ain't coming. I bite my lip, fighting tears and start my truck. A deep breath, a quick look around before I slide it into gear.

Just when I'm getting ready to pull out, a taxi stops in my path. I begin to launch into a colorful tirade at the driver when I see the back door open. He steps out, two duffle bags, one in each hand, and a shoulder bag.

My heart stops. He looks good. Sunglasses, jeans, grey tee-shirt. I blink, wondering if maybe I'm seeing things. I hear his voice, thanking the cabbie. I take off my sunglasses as he removes his. Our eyes meet as he steps toward my truck. I cut the engine and step out. 

"Didn't think you would make it," I mutter.

"Almost didn't," is his soft reply.

It strikes me funny, we've never exchanged names. I smile and extend my hand, "I'm Jennifer,"

"Sean," he tells me, taking my hand in his. His are warm, callused and large. I again picture them sliding over my body. The image makes me blush; I feel the heat of it on my cheeks. He cocks his head and looks at me with a ghost of a smile, almost as if he's reading my thoughts.

"So, where we heading? He asks me as I pretend to make room for his stuff. I'm not fooling him. He had to have seen the large open area in the back for his bags.

I hand him the map and point to Divide, Colorado nestled high in the mountains. A small town, snows a lot but it's beautiful. I got a job working in the casino. I think he could get a job there too, maybe as a bouncer? Security?

He drives. I watch. He's beautiful. I sigh.

I give him my suggestion and he grunts at me then tells me he isn't staying.

"Why did you come, then?" I ask him, more than a little let down. He tells me I shouldn't travel that distance alone. I sniff at that. I've been doing everything alone for the last two years.

"How long are you staying?" I find myself asking. This is the most we've talked, ever.

"Till it's time to go," he replies rather elusively.

I wonder at his cryptic words. Time to go? Before he gets attached? Before I do? Before one of us gets hurt? I will, either way.

We'll sleep together. Soon. I'm sure of it. He is too. I just hope he knows who he's with when he does.

"What was her name?" I ask him after a few hours of silence pass between us.

"Stacey," He tells me and I can still hear the love and pain in his voice. He looks at me, the silent question.

"John," I tell him. He nods.

"Shot," we both say at the same time and our eyes meet entirely too long to be safe while driving.

One word, that's all it takes to relax into each other. The silence no longer strained.

We stop and argue slightly over who pays for gas. He insists. I allow. This time. We decide to drive straight though. Should only take about sixteen hours. It's a long drive, but we'll take turns. He only allows me to drive about six of them, as he instructs me on the proper way to handle a motor vehicle.

We cross into town with a deep sigh out of both of us. If it were on the road any longer, we'd be yelling at each other. I giggle. He looks at me and then finally smiles. My heart stops, and then breaks. God he's beautiful.

It took us seventeen hours due to food and gas stops. It's midnight. Nothing's open but the casino. We're tired, dirty and starved. We order to go. As we wait, we play the quarter slots. I win a thousand bucks. First damn thing I won in my life. Maybe my luck's changing. I pay for dinner. He allows me.

Eight minutes later, we pull into our house. A little bungalow set back from the road. It's cute but small. Two bedrooms and a bath. Kitchen and living room is more of one large room. Not much else. We eat in silence, too tired to talk. He insists I shower first. I don't argue.

I collapse on the bed as he cleans up and briefly wonder if he will join me or go to the other room. I must have fallen asleep because when I roll over the place is pitch black and locked up tight. I find myself alone and feel tears of exhaustion prick my eyes. I'm so tired of being alone.

Its four A.M. when I get up to get a drink. His door is open and I can hear his deep even breaths. I close my eyes and wish I had the strength to go in there and touch him. I wonder if he sleeps nude. I lift up a little prayer that he does.

Lost in thought I don't hear him move behind me as I stand, staring into the fridge. The light must have woken him up.

"You ok?" he asks and I jump and spin around whacking my elbow on the door with a curse.

I blink. He's in grey boxer briefs and he is a god. "Ah yeah… I was thirsty. I didn't mean to wake you… sorry."

He smiles slightly as I rub my elbow and frown. He takes my bottle of water and uncaps it. I stand, transfixed as I watch him take a long pull. I think to myself that watching his neck move as he swallows is the most erotic thing I've ever seen.

He points to the fridge door and says, "You might want to close that,"

I curse again and shut the door, shrouding us in blackness. Now I can't see him at all. I wait for my eyes to adjust and feel his hand on my arm. He leads me back to my bed and then leaves, only to return a few seconds later with his own pillow. 

He settles in behind me, pulls me close and I know… he pretends I'm Stacey.


	3. Will He Let Me In?

**3 Will He Let Me In?**

We wake up, seconds from each other. A quick intake of breath is the only outward sign of consciousness. I know he thinks of jumping away, but he doesn't want to offend me. I wish I could pretend we were still asleep. Two years since I've felt arms around me, since I've felt safe.

I get up and go to the bathroom to spare him the pain and embarrassment of pulling away. I don't look at him, he doesn't want me to. He's in the kitchen when I come out. His pillow's gone and he's got jeans on.

I clear my throat and suggest one of us goes to the store for food. Before he can respond, I grab my keys and leave. He doesn't try to stop me. I don't even know what kind of food he eats. I buy a little bit of everything and too much of nothing.

He helps me unpack the food wordlessly. I wonder if he was ever a talker. I also wonder if it was a mistake asking him there. His pain is infectious, cutting me deep. Reopening old wounds. I wanted to help him, but at what cost? Not by reliving the pain.

"Do you want to drive around town, check it out in the day?" he asks me. An olive branch I know. Maybe he wants to leave. Maybe I want him to go but he has no way. No car. So I nod and he grabs his coat.

People watch us. We're strangers. They think we're a couple. He still wears his ring. I don't. I stopped about four months ago. My hand still feels naked without that band of gold.

He opens doors for me and I wish we were a couple. I wish that band matched mine. I wish this hole in my heart would go away. We get pizza and beer and I hear him laugh. It's deep and rich and warms me, gives me hope. If he can laugh again, then maybe he could love again.

The mountains are beautiful. Stark and cold. Dangerous and beautiful, just like the man at my side.

It's getting cold, there a few flakes of snow in the air and it's only September. I shiver and he put his arm around me for added warmth. Such a gentleman, even when he's broken.

"Come on, lets go home," he says and my heart warms at the thought.

He splits wood for the fire. I watch him, helpless to do anything but. He's strong, stronger than I thought. He's in good shape, fast for his size. I hand him a cold drink and again watch him swallow. It's becoming one of my favorite pastimes. I think he knows it because he smirks at me again.

"So, Jennifer, when do you start work?" He asks. Is he really interested or just trying to make conversation?

"Monday. They put me on lunch for now, until I get used to it. I've bartended before John and I got married, but it's been a while. He wanted me to quit… he said it wasn't safe…"

He doesn't look at me as he asks, "How'd it happen?"

"We were in bed sleeping. A man broke in to rob us. I guess we startled him and he shot us. John died instantly." I tell him simply, almost as if I've practiced the speech. Perhaps I have, I've told it more times then I care to admit.

"How 'bout you?" I ask, careful not to press. I'm not sure he's ready to talk yet.

"She got hit by a bullet meant for me," he tells me but the pain is still in his voice. He doesn't talk about it much, even when asked. That's fine with me. I can live with it. I don't need to know the details to share his pain. His shame at living.

I nod then help him carry the wood inside.

Sunday I spend the day cleaning and doing laundry. I even do his. It was nice, washing a man's clothes again. Never thought I'd miss that. He thanks me, somewhat embarrassed and I just shrug. No great hardship. I was washing anyway.

I make some calls; get the landline set up, the satellite. He goes to the hardware store and gets a shovel and some salt for when it snows. It feels so much like home already that I can't imagine him gone. We work well together.

He helps me clean up after dinner and then he reads. It's sexy watching a man read by a fire. The flames making his skin a deeper shade of caramel. From what I saw the night before, he's that color all over. The thought makes my mouth water.

He drives me to work Monday morning and tells me he will be back later. I wonder what he will do all day long and I wish I didn't have to work. I would like to spend another day with him. Only him. Doing nothing… well maybe something, I think perversely.

I'm amused by my sexual thoughts. I haven't had them in a quite a while, even John didn't give me the nasty little ideas that Sean does. There's just something about him that screams of hot sweaty sex and slow burning love.

He walks in and my co-worker chokes on her soda. It's good to know that I'm not the only one affected by his looks. I feel an unexpected, almost violent surge of jealousy that quickly passes when he only spares her a quick glance.

He strides over to me and almost smiles. "When do you get off?" he asks me.

I try not to smirk at his loaded question. For him, I'd get off anytime. He must catch the amusement I try to hide because he smiles at me and takes a drink. He's smug. It suits him. I'd bet everything I own he has good reason to be.

"About two hours," I tell him. He nods and tells me he will pick me up then.

He walks away from us and me and my new friend Dana stare at his fantastic ass.

"Is he your man?" She asks me.

What do I say? Is he? I guess if he wanted to be, yes. But we've never touched like that, never even spoke of it. I lie. He's mine. She can't have him.

"Yes," I say and take his empty bottle from the bar.

He's back two hours later. He leads me from the building with his hand at the small of my back. I wonder if he even realizes it. I doubt it, just the type of man he is.

We get home and I start dinner; he starts a fire. After we eat, we stand outside briefly and watch the sun set behind the mountains. It's painfully beautiful, like the man beside me.

"I love it here, Sean," I tell him honestly. Again, hoping he'll decide to stay.

"It's beautiful," he mutters in answer.

"I've never seen the snow before, a real snow fall. They're calling for four inches tonight."

"Pretty early in the season still,"

"Yeah, I know." If we get four inches now, what can we expect in December?

"It'll get tough, all alone," he tells me like I don't realize it.

I close my eyes, not wanting to be reminded, "I know," Silence falls as quietly as the snow.

I shiver and go inside. Away from him. I want to cry. It's the first time in a long time I feel the urge to cry. I go to take a bath, soak away the pain and loneliness.

He's shirtless again when I come out. I notice the scar for the first time and reach out to touch it.

It's a bullet wound, there's no disguising that small circular shape. He grabs my hand before I make contact. I look up and meet his eyes. He releases my hand and I remove my shirt, showing him my own scar. It matches his. Same side. Same place.

His eyes are drawn to it, not my breasts. He sucks in a breath and his warm finger reaches out and touches me. I can't feel it, the skin's numb.

"It went through him first. His heart. He shielded me or we would have both died…" I tell him simply. Like it happened to someone else.

He takes my hand and touches it to his scar. "It went through me first as I chased him down. I didn't shield her like I should have…,"

There it was. His guilt. The reason he won't let himself live again. He feels at fault.

"We didn't have a gun." I say and then smile. "He was a kindergarten teacher. They don't have reasons for a gun."

"I'm DEA. I have too many reasons for a gun."

His hand slides up my rib cage, just under my breast. His thumb rests in the crease, teasing me. Waiting.

"Sean, they're gone now. We have to learn to move on." I whisper. 

"I know," he whispers back to me.

His thumb moves higher, less then an inch but it is now on the swell of my breast. "It'll be the first time for me too," I assure him. He isn't alone in the fear and pain department. The guilt that hides there when you think about the next step, even if it's just wanting to think about the next step.

"We can wait till you're ready," I suggest

"I think I'm ready…"

I nod but have to ask him one more thing before he touches me, "Just make sure it's me you're touching,"

His eyes meet mine. So serious. "I know it's you, Jenny."


	4. Will He Touch Me?

**4 Will He Touch Me? **

"I know it's you, Jenny," he assures me.

Does he? I think he does. His hand cups my breast and I gasp with the pleasure of it.

"Sean," his name comes out as a breathless sigh. He takes a step closer to me, our chests are almost touching. His body heat is mingling with mine. His thumb brushes my nipple in a soft caress and I just want to crush his body against mine.

I grab his wrist and lead him back to my bedroom; the only light comes from the overflow of the bathroom's stark white light. It's just enough to see shapes and shadows. I sit on the bed as he stands before me. My hands tremble as I help him remove his jeans, pushing them past him hips and freeing his large erection.

I'm taken back by the size, I knew he would be large, everything about the man is large but in comparison to John, he's massive. I wonder briefly if it will fit inside of me then lose that train of thought when his hand wraps around himself and he pumps himself slowly a few times.

I stare, fascinated by the motion of his hand and find my own hand beginning to replace his. He hisses out a breath when I make contact and I wish I had more light to see his face. Does he enjoy how I touch him? Does he know it's me?

He moans once and then pulls my hand away, mumbling something about not lasting. I smile silently about that, glad to have that effect on him. He helps me stand and then lowers my bottoms, taking my panties with them.

We stand there, naked, his body outlined by the light. Nothing more than shadow's touching. I want to kiss him, to taste him and feel his body move under my fingers.

I look up as his head slowly lowers to mine. His lips, soft and warm, settle over mine. They make me dizzy. Two years since I've kissed a man, I forgot how much I enjoy it.

I open for him and his tongue sweeps in, tentatively at first and then more deeply as we get used to the taste of each other. I moan and cup the back of his head as his fingers tangle in my hair.

His other hand pulls me close and I feel his cock presses into my stomach. I shiver with need and anticipation. His hand slips from my hair and along with his other one, cups my ass and lifts me up, only to settle me in the middle of the bed.

He crawls on top of me, between my thighs. His penis is burning against my leg as our eyes meet in the dim light. He hovers over me and nibbles on my chin, kisses me deep and assures me that he knows it's me. He whispers my name as the head of his cock probes my entrance.

I'm hot and ready for him. I know exactly who it is I want and exactly what I want him to be doing. "Sean," I sigh as he begins to slide inside of me. "Oh, God," I cry, unable to keep quiet at the burning and stretching that he is making me feel.

"Jenny, you're too tight, fuck…" he mutters and grits his teeth.

He stops. We breathe deeply together. I feel tears prick my eyes and know he does too. 

"Sean," my voice is thick with emotion. I want him to continue. To not turn me away. I want him to love me, even half as much as he loved her. I want him to let me love him, even half as much as I already do.

He's fighting guilt. I'm past that point. John would want me to go on without him. I'm sure Stacey would too. I have to tell him, I can't not tell him.

"Let her go, Sean. Let me in. Please, let me love you,"

He takes a deep breath and rests his head on mine. He kisses me again and I can taste the salt of his tears. He groans my name and then begins to move.

Slow and steady. Careful. I wrap my legs round him and urge him deeper. He obliges. I cry out as his thrusts grow in both strength and length. His hands roam as do mine. It's not quite making love, but it's a start. He's attentive and sensual. I cry out and fall over the edge and more in love. He cries out and only stumbles. I'm ok with that. He's losing his footing… he'll fall with me soon.

We lay in the darkness trying to catch our breath. His hands linger longer and he sleeps in my bed that night.

September eases into October and he's still here. He sleeps with me every night now. He talks more and laughs a lot. He always takes me to work and picks me up. Not to control me but to keep me safe. I love him. There's no two ways about it. I want to tell him but I don't want to scare him away. Not when he's just opening up.

October slides into November and then he tells me one day that he's got a job at the bar I work. He has the same hours so he can still drive me. He's the door man and he watches me more than the door, I've noticed because I watch him more than I do the bar.

His eyes turn stormy when men talk to me. Protective. I smile at him and he gives me one of his heart stoppers. I blow him a kiss and he laughs. No one would believe the difference in him over the last two months. He's learning to live again. We both are.

A man at the bar is getting too touchy and Sean grabs him by the shoulder and hauls his ass out. He comes back and asks if I'm ok. I nod then I reach over the bar, grab him and kiss him deeply. As I pull back, I stare into his eyes and tell him the words that have been on the tip of my tongue for months now.

"I love you."

He blinks at me and then kisses me again.

"I love you too, Jenny." He turns and strides back to the door, waving at the regulars that make cat calls at him.

I'm glad he showed. I'm glad he stayed. I'm glad he opened up and I'm glad he touched and loved me.

FIN


End file.
